Saturday, 16 June 1877

[Continuation of the 15th]
— Is she Circassian? Nemekoff asked.
— No, she was born Basilewsky and married in the Caucasus, from where she has just arrived.
— And does she play?
— Not yet.
— Oh! She has a fine teacher in you. A very pretty woman.
The same with the others: Mme Bouldakoff came to say she was being tormented by a man who had been struck by the princess's beauty. Through all of this, Maman was pitiful to look upon. Approaching the trente-et-quarante table, the ladies recognized Alexandre playing opposite them — extremely agitated — who looked at the princess as at a complete newcomer and went back to his game. But it was not the same with Don Clemente. He lifted his head, and however swift his glance, the unfortunate princess felt herself recognized — and with reason! At once the damned Jew went to speak to his friend, who sprang up, walked across to the princess, examined her, and, apparently satisfied, returned to play.
That was a bad beginning. The princess began to play and to show herself to best advantage, hoping to brazen it out, when she overheard Larderei, Torlonia, and Mme Bashkirtseff discussing an extraordinary resemblance. The poor woman — Maman — wore an expression so strained and so frightened that that alone would have removed all doubt.
Torlonia maintained that a few cushions were no great matter and that nothing was easier than to increase one's figure.
What the poor princess desired was to see Alexandre again — as on the day of his departure for Vienna. He had been painted so ugly the day before yesterday that she found him superb today; she found him, in fact, just as before and as always. But the Jew's discovery spoiled the pleasure with fright. This man is my enemy — God knows why. Alexandre told Maman that he occupies himself solely with slandering us and that he detests us. How very strange! Let him not come, let him not even be known — very well, like so many others. But he is constantly occupied with me; he turns up precisely where I am; he spreads slanders about me. It is inexplicable unless he is mad about me — I do not hesitate to say so, for there is no reason to boast of it: he pays me no court and flatters my vanity not at all.
I say it because it is the only probable explanation for this persistent hatred. And tonight — who recognized me? No one, I swear — no one. No one except the Jew: how did the idea come to him? He thinks of me, then. I was entirely transformed; had I not been, others who see me every day would have had their suspicions.
There had been only Larderei and Melissano. Melissano because he is a cynic, a neuter animal, a buffoon. And Alexandre — once, and because he was drunk.
You will recall Doenhoff, who at first permitted himself some free words, but who afterward spoke to me only as to his daughter, even checking Maman when she seemed about to say something excessive — she, a married woman; I glory in this, because Doenhoff was trained by me. He needed training, after his acquaintance with Russian ladies — Mme Voyeikoff, who allows her calves to be pinched, and so many others.
Good — on this point too I am at peace. It was this that tormented me most keenly.
Oh! how I hate those who dared say to me what ought not to be said! They offended me, made me doubt myself, the whole world, everything!
Therefore, God, punish them. They have deserved it!! I do not hesitate to say so to God — for they have deserved divine punishment, these vulgar cynics, these animals who amuse themselves by instructing youth and above all by examining it. These cowards, these vile creatures! These infamous men! The pettiness of their vileness only aggravates it, and no imprecation will be strong enough against them!
[In the margin: They had gone to meet Séraphin.]
Confound you, readers — do you sense something curious approaching? Whether you sense it or not, know that in yesterday's disguise I betook myself — that is to say, the Princess Zeretel betook herself to Monaco with her cousin Mme Kondareff. The princess trembled a little upon entering the gaming house, all the more so as Laurenti, Danis, d'Aspremont and the rest were present. As the princess, Mmes Kondareff, Bashkirtseff, and Romanoff were ascending in a cab toward the casino, another cab crossed their path containing Larderei and Torlonia.
I had already been prepared to expand upon "this bizarre adventure" — the southern dusk, the fireflies, the apparition, the disappointment, and so on. The princess's entrance produced no effect other than that of a new face and an elegant, and perhaps somewhat giddy, woman. Her cousin spoke little and appeared to be doing the honours of the room. Nemekoff greeted Mme Kondareff; so did Mme Bouldakoff and all the regulars. Then someone asked who I was. Mme Kondareff said it was her cousin, the Princess Zeretel. (She does have a cousin of that name.)
I adore being incognito. It is delightful, yes — but also devilishly dangerous. You will say I throw myself into the fire for Alexandre. I would say so too, had I not done almost the same for others, or for nothing at all. The cousin was playing; the princess was watching Larderei — always with the same calm and complete pleasure, with the same quiet contentment as at Naples, with the same satisfaction as if she were gazing at her own face on a beautiful day. They had arrived at ten o'clock; the last train left at half-past eleven — so the princess spent an hour and a half under everyone's eyes, in a brilliantly lit room, head high, lips pursed. Larderei was already on the platform, walking briskly with his umbrella at shoulder arms, followed step by step and always at an equal distance by Séraphin. I no longer remember in which pantomime, which ballet, which vaudeville I saw such a pursuit — or was it a caricature: My Lord and his manservant. At last, My Lord and his manservant parted only when Mme Bashkirtseff seized My Lord and began to nearly run with him along the platform, astonishing all the regulars who understood nothing at all of this frenzy, or of this attachment to the new arrival.
I believe they were still debating the princess; in any case, I had the whole story recounted to me at home. He was introduced to my aunt, who, severe and solemn, told him that he did not know her — which was why he allowed himself such suppositions…
Oh! If it had not been for the Jew! You know very well how it went with Bihovetz! Ah! The Jew of my heart… he must meddle in everything.
— Well then, said Larderei, to prove to me it is not she, invite me into the same carriage.
Maman invited him with alacrity. The princess, her cousin, and Mme Kondareff were already settled when Mme Bashkirtseff came to ask for two seats, which were granted at once.
In any case there was nothing for it but to expose oneself bravely — if there was any way of throwing him off the scent, this was the only one.
[Written across the page: Well, but this Larderei must have been flattered to see that such things were done for his sake.]
— Princess, Mme Kondareff, said Mme Bashkirtseff — allow me to present the Comte de Larderei.
Both ladies acknowledged the introduction. Mme Bashkirtseff tried to interpose herself between the princess and the count, but both made such a movement that she left them together. The princess with prodigious aplomb; the count like a man present on a curious errand. He made every sort of manoeuvre to provoke a betrayal — steering the conversation to episodes from Naples, muddling things, forgetting names — but the princess was startled only once: when he said that the young ladies had been alone at the fishing at Sorrento. She was offended by it. She also asked who Séraphin was, as the name was pronounced so often.
— He is my secretary, Madame.
— He is his manservant! said Mme Bashkirtseff.
— My intimate secretary, Larderei insisted. And at once: "Now there is one who knows his spelling."
As he had asked Mme Bashkirtseff for a light, the princess asked him for one.
He stared hard, and the princess did not conceal herself at all.
Arrived at Nice the party separated with the customary courtesies, but as someone was in pursuit of Mme Kondareff and her cousin, they took a great many turnings through all manner of streets, frightened by every cab, while Mmes Bashkirtseff and Romanoff carried Alexandre off.
The princess rushed home like a madwoman, already half undressed on the way, for she needed to receive the others from the window.
[Written across the page: Alexandre says he prefers the telegraph to the post because the clerks correct one's spelling mistakes.]
[In the margin: (Request, once and for all, to pronounce and print names in full).]
Fortunately they were five minutes late, so that — washed clean and dressed in white — I was at the window when Maman and my aunt arrived with My Lord and his manservant on the box.
— Not yet in bed! my aunt called out to me.
— Not yet, I replied — you took the keys; I have had no tea; you know that it is — who is that with you? Is that you, Walitsky?
— It is the Comte de Larderei, said Maman.
— No nonsense, if you please…
— It is I, Mademoiselle, good evening, said Alexandre, bowing — still in the courtyard, just as I was still at the window!
— Impossible!
— But yes, it is I.
— And how did this come about?
He was already in the smoking room asking for the famous caricature about which he had been written to, when I came downstairs. Moreover he was drunk — as I had observed in the carriage.
We said nothing in particular, but there were a few allusions between us — as if to amuse ourselves with the memory of very pleasant things.
Only this masquerade, these little deceptions, this perpetual intrigue have muddled my mind and I no longer know what I am saying.
The whole time in the carriage he talked as if I were prompting him with words — to make Mme Kondareff believe the story of his proposal and my refusal, and so on.
All this will discredit me. With Larderei I do nothing else, and — what is curious — I reproach myself for nothing and repent of nothing. He seems to me so much a part of myself, one of our own, that I would confide everything in the world to him, certain of finding in him protection and support. Strange, is it not?
He has invited himself to luncheon tomorrow, while complaining of Torlonia's tyranny — forever after him to keep him from coming here. Maman appears to be quite mad about him, and we laugh about it openly.
I have had repeated to me ten times everything I was unable to hear, and —